


Detours and Deceptions

by wbh



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: 1950s lube options, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Noir, Blow Jobs, Bottom Jensen, Detective Story, Floor Sex, M/M, Morally Dubious Client!Jensen, Private Investigator!Misha, Top Misha, sort of we'll see how good I am at plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-27
Updated: 2015-12-13
Packaged: 2018-04-28 12:56:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,145
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5091575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wbh/pseuds/wbh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Private eye Misha Collins hadn't had a case in weeks, but he's not sure he should trust his latest client - a gorgeous New York club owner who, rumor has it, is a key player in the criminal underground.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Cockles noir, written for Bri. This is set in the early 50s, in a New York whose geography is entirely fictional. 
> 
> Six chapters are planned out, explicit rating refers to later chapters. Updates will probably be sporadic, as I should be writing my dissertation.

The sign on the door said _M. Collins – Private Investigator_. Not quite his name and not quite his job, most days, but close enough.

"M. Collins” himself (Misha to anyone who cared), was lounging in his dim office behind the closed door that bore his name, wishing he’d been smart enough to call it quits after his fourth scotch last night. He had his feet up on his scuffed desk and his jacket slung over the back of his hard wooden chair, hat pulled low over his face to shield his eyes. If he didn’t desperately need the money he might not have bothered showing up at his office. Nearly three weeks without a case, and business hadn’t exactly been booming before that.

A loud knock on the door made Misha wince under his hat, and he reluctantly pulled his feet off the desk and tried to sit up and act professional. “S’ open!” he called. Where the hell was his secretary? Sally was supposed to deal with potential clients, vet them and keep them away from him until he decided if he’d take the case or not. Not that he could really afford to be picky.

The door opened, and in strolled possibly the most gorgeous man Misha had ever seen, dressed to the nines in a tailored three-piece suite, hat in hand and overcoat slung over one arm. Not from this part of town then, and clearly desperate if he was slumming around here looking for Misha’s help. Misha struggled not to grin like a cat with a canary – this was his favorite kind of client: easy on the eyes, and with enough money to throw around they wouldn’t notice if he charged double his going rate.

As Misha was about to shout at his receptionist for letting someone (even as juicy a prospective client as this) in without permission, his sluggish and hung-over brain finally recalled she’d been gone for a over a week, off to greener financial pastures and a boss who could actually pay her. He hoped he’d be able to poach her back once he raked in some cash. Sally had been damn good at her job. Perhaps this sharply dress, bright-eyed man and his troubles would be just what he needed to get her back.

The man in the doorway was taking a thoroughly unimpressed look around Misha’s small office. “You M. Collins?” he asked.

“Guilty,” Misha replied, standing up and walking around his desk. He held out his hand, “Misha.”

“Jensen Ackles,” the man replied, one eyebrow raised as he waited for a reaction Misha was trying very hard not to give. He’d heard the name, hell, everyone in the New York underbelly knew Jensen Ackles, successful bar and club owner four times over and, rumor had it, smuggler extraordinaire. Just what he smuggled was the subject of wild speculation, as he of course had never been caught. But rumors persisted and the criminals of New York had learned to tread lightly when his name came up.

“I hear you’re the man to contact if you want something solved without the law getting in the way,” Jensen continued, scrutinizing Misha’s threadbare outfit, a striped shirt Sally had told him looked hideous with his one good tweed suit, which had only made him start wearing the whole outfit as often as possible out of spite. Jensen clearly shared Sally’s opinion of Misha’s clothing choices; he looked distinctly unimpressed.

Misha snorted, “I can be,” he said slowly, answering Jensen’s implied question. Truly he rarely turned down a job, especially when he needed it as desperately as he did now. “Depends what you want.” Misha had his own code after all, and money troubles be damned there were some things he just wouldn’t do. He wasn’t a hit man, no matter how often someone had tried to hire him as one. The rumors around Jensen Ackles were wild enough for him to play his cards close for the moment.

“Nothing that’ll get you too dirty,” Jensen replied, smiling. “Just a business problem where I can’t afford to be seen, um, directly intervening.”

Misha shook his head and moved back to the other side of his desk, bracing himself to throw the infamous Jensen Ackles, money or no money (and gorgeous body or no gorgeous body), out of his office. “I’m a gumshoe, not a business man,” he said, sitting down again and putting his feet back up on the desk. Find an accountant.”

Jensen actually laughed at that, crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes as he threw his head back. “Not that kind of business, friend. I’ve got a crime for you to solve, but I can’t go to the police. I’m here to hire you for what you do best.” At that, Jensen leaned both his hands onto Misha’s desk to gaze down at him. Jensen’s fitted suit jacket fell open even more to expose the smooth and lean lines under his waistcoat, the shiny buttons there twinkling even in the dim light of Misha’s office.

Misha swallowed suddenly, nervous in a way that had nothing to do with the potential job and everything to do with Jensen’s green eyes. For the first time, the cocksure man who’d barged into his office looked a little uncertain, a little nervous, and just the tiniest bit desperate. Misha focused closely on Jensen’s lips as he spoke again, “There’s been a kidnapping,” he said in a low voice, “and I need you to find out who’s snatched my bookkeeper.”

“What?” Misha exclaimed, finally distracted from his client’s face.

“One of my business rivals must have snatched her up. Don’t know which one, but they left a message.” Jensen pulled a crumpled piece of paper out of his jacket pocket and threw it down on the desk. “Said if I don’t shut down all my clubs and…other operations within a week they’ll make her talk and spill all my secrets to the authorities. You’re going to help me get her back, and I’m going to make those sons of bitches sorry they ever messed with Jensen Ackles.”

Misha swallowed again. This was a job, and he absolutely should not be turned on by an unknown and potentially violent client. He told himself it was completely about the money as he responded, “Alright. You’ve hired yourself a private eye.”

 


	2. Chapter 2

The following evening, Misha stood in the street staring at the open doorway of the brightly-lit downtown bar where he’d been told to meet Jensen Ackles so he could get more details and start his new case. Raucous jazz music and bright, harsh light spilled from the club into the street, clashing horribly with the dreary sounds of the city at night. It was raining lightly, and Misha turned up the collar of his overcoat as he contemplated, not for the first time, saying to hell with this strange job and his less-than-reputable client and going home. Trouble was, if he did go home it would be to a dark, cold, rickety old apartment he could barely afford the rent on, much less any other costs. That alternative in mind, Misha steeled himself and made his way inside the club.

The bar was even more unsettlingly harsh and disorderly inside than out, groups of men and women hanging on each other, yelling out false, high-pitched laughter over the sad tinkling of the piano in the corner. In some ways it seemed like just the kind of place Misha might take it upon himself to stir up and bring some genuine joviality to, were he in a better mood and not on the job. He squinted through the smoke-filled air, looking for some sign of just where he was supposed to go to meet Jensen. He was fairly sure the infamous possible-crime-lord wouldn’t waste time socializing in one of his own back alley dives.

Not seeing any terribly obvious signs of just where some kind of meeting room might be, Misha approached the bar. Flagging down the bartender, and reminding himself firmly that drinking on the job (particularly _this_ job) was a bad idea, Misha addressed his more immediate concern to the bartender instead. “I have…a meeting here,” he said, attempting to be as vague as possible in case Jensen didn’t want it getting around he held office hours in the back rooms of his own bars. Luckily the bartender seemed to know what he was talking about.

"Ah, Mr. Collins!” he said, catching on immediately, “Straight through the back,” at this he pointed to a door behind the piano. “The boss is waiting for you.”

Nodding slowly, Misha tried to ignore how ominous that sounded as he pushed his way through a sea of patrons to the door at the back of the club. After a moment’s hesitation he decided against knocking; he needed to be a bit more bold and unpredictable if he wanted to reset the power balance between himself and his client. It didn’t help that the guy’s gorgeous eyes gave him such an advantage where Misha was concerned. He was working for Jensen, but that was no reason not to try to keep the other man on guard; two could play at that game, after all.

It turned out knocking would have been pointless anyway, as he walked straight into a long, dim hallway instead of a room. Spotting a guard near a door at the far end of the hall, Misha made his way toward him. The guard nodded as he approached and opened the door, putting the nail in the coffin of Misha catching Jensen off guard and getting them back on an even footing. Ah well. It wasn’t like this was the first time he hadn’t totally trusted an attractive client.

The room Jensen was sitting in was plain, no pictures on the walls and only minimal, hard wooden furniture. It actually looked a lot like Misha’s office. Clearly not used very often. The man himself looked relaxed and at ease, suit jacket missing and stripped down to his waistcoat and shirtsleeves. Jensen sat up straighter behind the desk as Misha entered the room, and gave a small smile.

“Mr. Collins,” he began, “Misha. So glad you decided to take my case. I wasn’t quite sure you’d follow through when we parted at your office last night.”

"When I say I’ll take a case I take it,” Misha replied, stubborn and affronted, for all he _had_ been seriously contemplating blowing this off. “Let’s get to it,” he continued, “You tell me who you think might have your bookkeeper, and I’ll see what I can do.”

“Oh no, Misha, that’s not quite what I had in mind,” Jensen said, standing up and walking around the desk to pat Misha’s arm, “While I’m sure you have your methods, I need you mostly to go places I can’t afford to be seen. I need you undercover at my rival’s clubs, finding out which one has Jenny so I can go after the right guy. I’ll take care of all that, I just need _you_ to get information I can’t.”

Misha narrowed his eyes. “That isn’t what we discussed,” he said, annoyed. “And that’s not how I work. If that was all you needed, why not just ask one of your flunkies?” Misha jerked his thumb over his shoulder, indicating the man who was surely still on the other side of the door.

Rather than take offense, Jensen laughed softly, “They’re good at what they do, but they’re not exactly subtle. I’m hiring you to do subtle. I’d do this myself if Reynolds, Adamson, that whole lot didn’t know my face so well. But you – no one’s gonna think you’re working for me, because you haven’t before. Get it?”

It made a certain amount of sense, but Misha’s professional pride was a little wounded.  Still, beggars and choosers and all that. “Alright, fine,” he acquiesced, trying to match Jensen’s oddly carefree mood (he was beginning to suspect it was a front for the man’s very real concerns). “I’m your undercover man. I’m supposed to, what, go to these men’s establishments and hope they’ll confess to a stranger that they’ve pulled one over on the great Jensen Ackles?”

“Pretty much. And then come tell me so I can plan a way to get Jenny back without getting anyone killed. Or, well, anyone who works for me.”

Misha nodded. It was a plan that depended greatly on luck, but it was also surprisingly cautious, given what Jensen had told him was at stake. He decided against telling Jensen that these kinds of plans always had a way of going south, particularly when Misha was involved in them. No need to lose himself a potentially simple job so early in the process.

“Alright, so where am I going first?” Misha asked. The night was still young. They had enough time for him to infiltrate at least two of the potential kidnappers’ joints by morning.

“First? First you’re coming back to my place so we can get you in some decent clothes,” said Jensen, looking Misha up and down grimly.

“What? Why?” Misha asked, looking down at himself. He was wearing one of his nicer outfits. Sure, everything was a little worn (the hole in his right front pocket was starting to become a little too obvious) but at least, according to Sally, everything matched.

Jensen smiled at Misha indulgently. “I’m not going to pretend you don’t have a…a _look_ going on, and it works for you, Mr. Hard-Boiled Private Eye, but my rivals run some high class joints. You’d stick out like a sore thumb and the point is for you to blend in. Luckily one of my suits might fit you well enough, even though you’re a little short.” Jensen winked at that, effortlessly put his jacket back on, grabbed his overcoat, and walked out of the room.

“I’m not short,” Misha muttered, before following Jensen back into the bar.

* * *

 

After a short drive chauffeured in Jensen’s fancy car (nice and new enough that Misha again wondered just _what_ Jensen’s illegal smuggling business trafficked in) they arrived at an upscale building in the nicer part of uptown. The building’s doorman smiled at Jensen as he let them in. He and Jensen entered perhaps the sturdiest elevator Misha had ever been in, and Jensen used a key to send them up to the top floor.

The longer they spent in close proximity the more Jensen seemed to find excuses to touch Misha; little lingering brushes of his hands or a caress across his shoulders as Jensen pointed out a landmark or steered him in a new direction. Against his better judgment, Misha found himself returning the touches and initiating his own, spurred on by Jensen’s easy smile. Oh, this was a bad idea. Jensen was his _client_ and, more importantly, very probably a criminal.

The elevator doors opened right onto a swanky apartment living room, with large windows and nice furnishings and light fixtures that actually turned on. Misha didn’t think he’d ever been in such a nice apartment; he almost wondered how this was was in the same city as his dingy rooms downtown. The walls were covered with the kind of artwork he felt like he would be familiar with if he knew anything about that sort of thing – both realistic and stylized nudes probably painted by some long-dead European, all skillfully mounted in expensive looking frames.

“Make yourself at home,” Jensen said, as he brushed past Misha and walked purposefully toward what Misha assumed was his bedroom. That seemed unlikely to happen, Misha thought, as he gazed down at furniture that looked too nice to sit on. Luckily, Jensen emerged from the back room soon enough, carrying a grey three-piece suit and a bright red tie that, even slung over his arm, looked like it cost more than Misha made in a month. A good month.

“This is the only one I think might not be too long in the leg,” Jensen said, shoving the suit unceremoniously at Misha, “Let’s get you looking presentable. Wash room’s down the hall.”

For a moment Misha considered stripping right in front of Jensen and seeing what would happen. Even if he’d read Jensen’s interest right, he wasn’t sure what he’d do – and wasn’t the exciting? Still, he had a job to do tonight, and they’d already lost precious time coming here, s he dutifully went down the hall to put on Jensen’s expensive suit in private.

He was surprised by how well everything fit. The trousers were only just too long, and the jacket a little tight in the shoulders, but all in all Misha thought he pulled it off. Jensen was right – while this style was less comfortable than he preferred and he’d never choose to wear it himself, he’d fit right in at some high class uptown bar.

Misha left the tie off when he stepped back into Jensen’s living room to show off his new look. He spun around a little and smirked at the look that put on Jensen’s face. Oh yes, two could play at this game.

“A little help with the tie?” Misha asked, all innocence. “I’m sure my knot wouldn’t be up to your standards.”

Jensen looked all too pleased to approach, grabbing onto Misha’s hands as he pulled the tie from his grasp and flipped Misha’s collar up to wrap the tie around his neck. It seems to Misha that Jensen was working agonizingly slowly, his hands lingering on Misha’s neck and dragging tantalizingly down his chest as he tied a double windsor and tucked the end of the tie into Misha’s waistcoat. He was so close their breath mingled, and only came closer when he finished adjusting Misha’s collar. He didn’t look at what he was doing in favor of gazing into Misha’s eyes through the whole process. Just as Misha was about to lose control of himself, sure any second that Jensen would feel the beginnings of his erection through his trousers, Jensen pulled back and smoothed his hands across Misha’s shoulders.

“We should get going. Night’s not getting any younger.” Jensen turned and walked back to the elevator, and Misha spent the time it too the machine to make it back to their floor to try to catch is breath and collect himself.

* * *

 

“Here we are,” Jensen said about twenty minutes later, as the fancy car stopped about a block from an upscale joint even more flashy and noisy than Jensen’s dive on the other side of town. “This is – ”

“Reynold’s Place,” Misha finished for him. He knew the place. Owner was rumored to be as crooked as Jensen was, and was definitely one of his main business rivals, if only on the legitimate side.

“Ah, so you’ve heard of Tommy?” Jensen said, sounding pleased. “He’s my main suspect. Guy’s got it out for me and he’s got no subtlety. Just the type to snatch my bookkeeper and then shout about it to me in some stupid ransom note. He likes to sit in his own place and let his flunkies suck up to him in public. Try flattering him and see what he says. He also loves showing off in a card game, if you can start one. If he’s got Jenny, you make your exit quick as you can and come find me – I’ll be waiting out here again in two hours. I’m warning you, you’re in there any longer than that and I’m gonna assume he snatched you too and come in blazing. So don’t screw up. I’m trusting you to not lose Jenny for me. She’s a good girl and a better typist. Understand?”

Jensen held Misha’s gaze through this whole speech and looked deadly serious in a way he hadn’t since he’d first walked into Misha’s office. Hell, Misha suddenly felt bad he’d been wasting time flirting with his client while some girl’s life was on the line. He was going to do this right, and he was going to get paid. And he was going to ignore how Jensen’s concern for his safety seemed like a bit more than a wealthy criminal should care about a hired P.I.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Parts of this chapter inspired by this gif: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/originals/aa/08/32/aa08323e7e610725f464adcdcd439d3d.gif


	3. Chapter 3

Misha entered Reynold's Place and tried to slip into the most confident persona he had. It was much easier to do since he’d left Jensen in the car. That guy seemed to make Misha all wrong-footed without even trying. Now that he was on his own, with a job to do, Misha could recover the old, cocky swagger he needed for situations like this. He belonged here. He was an ideal customer. What most helped him put that crucial confidence in his step was the fact that he was, hopefully, getting paid tonight.

Jensen had shown him a photograph of Tommy Reynolds, the balding, middle-aged club owner, before sending him inside. But Misha didn’t look for him in the smoke-filled room just yet. He thought it would be better to draw the man’s attention to himself rather than go looking. Less suspicious that way. And anyway, this club, brighter but more smoke-filled even than Jensen’s had been, was less dance hall and more barely concealed gambling haunt, tables of card games lining the back walls behind rows and rows of mostly men gossiping and downing whiskey. Misha supposed Tommy Reynolds must be quite the hot-shot to make the authorities ignore this place. It would be easy for Misha to sit in on a game and wrack up enough of a winning streak that the boss himself would be compelled to join his table and prove he could beat his newest high-rolling customer. That is, if Tommy Reynolds was as eager to show off as Jensen thought he was.

Misha wouldn’t normally have had the money to even buy a drink in this joint, but Jensen had graciously handed him a bundle of cash when he left the car, saying this gig was an “all expenses paid” kind of job.

Not wasting any time, Misha quickly smooth-talked his way into a game of poker at a table along the back wall. It mostly involved just flashing his cash. He smirked a little as he sat down, knowing his overly bold manner and flaunting of his ‘wealth’ had made him look like an easy mark to the men already playing. They were in for a surprise.

A greasy-haired man who looked to be the current dealer (Misha had made sure they were taking it in turns before joining the game) smacked the well-dressed woman sitting behind him on the arm and demanded, “Get me a drink, doll.” Misha let his smile grow even wider, knowing it would make him seem even more naïve and harmless. Excellent. Greasy-Hair underestimated him so much he was willing to play blitzed.

Misha watched carefully as the cards were dealt. A classic, five-card stud. Kids stuff. He made a show of looking carefully and nervously at the facedown cards in front of him, hesitating theatrically before placing his bet. Inside, he was full of confidence. He had a decent hand, but more importantly he had a good read on everyone at the table. He knew just how to play it for the perfect bluff. And more importantly – and why he had chosen this table in particular in the end – none of them looked like they would notice if he cheated. Hustling in back alley card games was how Misha had been able to afford a move down from Boston when he was younger. He was in his element; he was very skilled at the Riffle shuffle, the most difficult and hidden trick shuffling move out there, which always ensured him the best cards when he dealt. Used sparingly, it looked just like he was having a string of good luck. It was also something that had taken a long time to master and he was often disappointed he couldn’t really brag about it.

Still. Now he had to focus. He had to win enough (but not suspiciously enough) to make himself stand out to Reynolds. No one who actually did it well said bluffing and cheating were _easy_.

* * *

 

A little over an hour into this adventure, Misha was starting to doubt his strategy. Or perhaps Jensen’s assessment of Tommy Reynolds. He’d only stacked the deck in his favor a handful of times, but he still had a sizeable stack of winnings at his elbow, and had caused more than one fellow patron to flee the table with what was left of his money. Misha glanced at his winnings and sighed. If this wasn’t working he was going to have to try another approach.

“Sorry to cut it short, fellas, but I’m due for a drink and I like to quit while I’m ahead,” Misha said and then he winked, making most of the remaining players glare at him. He’d certainly have the money to pay for that drink now. No one at the table looked sorry to see him go as he shoved his winnings into the pockets of Jensen’s expensive suit.

Right as Misha stood up, a large hand landed heavily on his shoulder. Misha turned to see a very tall, very broad-shouldered man, who, by the pressure he was putting on Misha’s upper arm, wasn’t letting go any time soon.

“Congratulations,” he said, sounding anything but congratulatory. “The boss wants to see you to tell you how impressed he his himself.”

This was pretty much what Misha had wanted to happen, but he suddenly wasn’t too keen on his own plan. Particularly since it seemed to be veering in a direction that took him to Reynolds, rather than Reynolds to him. Still, he could use his newfound misgivings to react in the way everyone would expect him to.

“Oh?” he asked, feigning innocence. “That’s kind of him, but I’ve got somewhere to be soon, someone to see, if you know what I mean.” He smirked up at the goon still holding his arm. Sometimes he just couldn’t help provoking people – a fault, perhaps, but too much fun to stop entirely.

The goon’s face twisted in displeasure. “He insists,” he said, and began roughly pulling Misha toward a door at the back of the club. Misha hurried to keep up with him, both to relieve the pressure on his arm and to avoid making a scene as his card scheme to see the boss paid off.

Walking through the club’s back door into yet another nondescript hallway and under-furnished room gave Misha déjà vu of Jensen’s place earlier in the evening, but he knew he wasn’t going to be meeting anyone nearly as pretty or cordial this time. The giant let go of Misha and growled “Wait here,” at him before locking him in. And then Misha was alone.

He knew they would leave him here for a while to make him squirm a bit before confronting him, and while that bothered him not one bit (he’d been a victim of that tactic during too many other investigations to count) he was starting to worry that the two hours Jensen had given him were almost up. He cursed himself for not wearing a watch – it was something he did with frightening regularity that nevertheless was normally not a problem. Being late or early tended to catch people off guard. He had to have been here for over an hour and a half already, and the more the minutes ticked by as he paced in the empty room, the closer he got to Jensen’s ‘storm the castle’ deadline. And he wasn’t through here yet by a long shot.

Finally, as Misha was starting to prepare for the next person through the door to _be_ Jensen, guns blazing and all, the door opened and in walked Tommy Reynolds, as lumpy and grumpy as Jensen’s picture of him. He was flanked by two men who could only be bodyguards, but he took one look at Misha and waved them outside, shutting the door behind them. Well. It was a little insulting to so quickly be considered not a threat, but at least Misha had the guy to himself.

“Mr. Reynolds,” Misha began, trying to take control of the situation. “Lovely place you’ve got here –”

"Shut up,” said Reynolds harshly. “You and I both know why I brought you back here. That’s some fancy shuffling you were doing out there. Good enough none of my loyal patrons suspect a thing, which doesn’t always happen. Now, I’ll play the poor host just once and not tell those boys they were swindled by some low-life card sharp if you tell me just why Jensen Ackles sent you in here.”

Now _that_ blindsided Misha. For all Jensen’s plan had been a bit reckless, he’d thought they’d been circumspect enough that Reynolds shouldn’t know he was in Jensen’s employ. No point in denying it now, though, he supposed. And no point asking Reynolds how he knew. He probably had a spy in Jensen’s organization – Misha would have to warn Jensen about that.

Making a show of mulling over his options, even though he’d already decided how he was going to play this, Misha hesitated. “Well,” he tried to start, drawing out the word.

“He wants my buyer info, that it? Idiot should know I’d never give that up to some stranger in a card game,” Reynolds interjected before Misha could continue.

“Ah, no, he’s not that stupid,” said Misha, affronted on Jensen’s behalf but trying to ingratiate himself with Reynolds. “He’s looking for his bookkeeper.”

Reynolds laughed, which didn’t seem like a good sign. “He thinks _I_ snatched her? That boy doesn’t even know who’s got it in for him. It’s almost _tragic_ ,” Reynolds said, as he grinned unpleasantly.

Misha only got thing out of that though. “So, you know who has her? I’ll give you my winnings if –” Misha’s attempt to bargain for Bookkeeper Jenny’s location was cut off by shouts and loud, pounding footsteps coming from the hallway.

“Hey, you’re not allowed –” Misha heard someone shout before they cut off with a muffled grunt. Both Misha and Reynolds only had enough time to turn toward the door before it burst open, revealing a very angry Jensen wielding a pistol, which he was pointing directly at Reynolds.

“You’re over time,” Jensen said, surprisingly calmly, not looking away from Reynolds but clearly addressing Misha. “You alright?”

“I was about to get you the answers you wanted,” Misha said, annoyed. He _was_ a professional. “That might not be on the table anymore.”

“Nah,” said Reynolds, looking far to amused for a man with a gun in his face. “You put the gun down, hot head, and I’ll tell you what you should already know.”

“Why would you do that?” Jensen asked, lowering the gun a fraction.

“For the satisfaction of seeing you brought down a peg. And because you’re not as much of a threat as you’d like everyone to think, boy, but let’s both keep that to ourselves, eh?”

Jensen scowled at that, but lowered his gun. Interesting. Misha was suddenly far, far more intrigued by Reynolds’s insinuation about Jensen than by where Jenny might be.

“You remember O’Leary?” Reynolds asked.

“The low-life who manages the shipping docks?” Jensen replied, brow furrowing.

“The same. You know he’s seeing one of your girls. Well, she used to work for you. Sally, worked at your Brooklyn joint.”

Reynolds pronounced this with the air of a man making a huge reveal, but Misha was even more confused than ever. Curiously, it looked like Jensen was too.

“So?” Misha asked, butting in.

“ _So?_ ” Reynolds parroted back. “So O’Leary believes all those stories about Jensen here bedding all his girls. He took it too much to heart, and got himself insane with jealousy over Sally, even though she doesn’t work for him anymore. So he thought he’d get Ackles here back by taking away his main lover – dear Jenny, who must be Ackles's favorite if he lets her keep his books.”

“Those stories aren’t true,” Jensen said firmly, looking far more affronted than Misha thought he (or any man) would be at the accusation. “And I’m not messing around with Jenny. She manages the books, and she’s damn good at it.”

“A _woman_ manages your books because she’s good at it?” Reynolds asked incredulously. Jensen practically growled at him. “Fine, fine, have it your way. Just thought you should know your precious little ‘bookkeeper’ is probably trussed up at the docks right now. You should probably take your…muscle here,” he indicated Misha with an air that suggested he didn’t think Misha would be much help at all, “and get down there before O’Leary does something stupid.”

Jensen scowled even more deeply than he had already been. Misha tried to stop himself from noticing he still somehow managed to look attractive. “If you’re lying – ” Jensen started.

“I’m not. _You’re_ the one who’s so good at lying, Ackles. And remember that I know it.” Reynolds smiled smugly. With one final glare, Jensen turned on his heel and left the room, making his way swiftly out of the club. Misha hurried after him, not wanting to stay in that room with Reynolds any longer than he had to.

Once they were outside, Misha caught up with Jensen and roughly pushed him into the nearest alley. He was done being left in the dark.        

“What the hell was all that?” Misha demanded angrily.

Jensen shoved Misha off him. “I’m not sleeping with Jenny,” he said.

Misha scoffed. “I don’t care about that!” He did. God help him, he did, and something in him relaxed happily to hear Jensen say it so plainly. “What the hell does Reynolds have on you?” Misha continued, trying to stay angry. “And why’d you have to rush in there when I had everything under control? I do this for a living, you –”

Misha’s rant was cut off suddenly as Jensen grabbed the front of his jacket and nearly slammed him against the alley wall. And then Misha couldn’t really remember why he’d been angry, because Jensen was kissing him, hot and wet and hungry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this was a day later than I wanted, getting to the good stuff!


	4. Chapter 4

Misha was completely blind-sided at first, and almost didn’t respond to Jensen’s kiss. As soon as he realized what was happening, he grabbed Jensen by his jacket and started giving back as good as he was getting, running his tongue along Jensen’s lips and pushing inside. It was overwhelming, something he'd been craving all night without letting himself acknowledge it. The feeling of Jensen's warm body pressed against his, one leg thrust between Misha's. Jensen holding him almost too harshly against the brick, winding fingers through his hair as he moved Misha's head where he wanted, to get a better angle. Misha gasped in pleasure as Jensen ran a teasing hand over his rapidly stiffening cock. He tried to give back as good as he was getting and moved his hand down to give the globe of Jensen's firm ass a squeeze. Jensen let out a surprised but happy moan, which jolted Misha to his senses and unhappily back to earth.

He pushed Jensen away. “What the hell?” he said, trying to get his breath back.

Jensen looked genuinely confused. “What, you didn’t want that too? Haven’t been thinking about it since we went back to my place? Since I got you in my clothes?”

“I…I” Misha sputtered. This was not good. He was not often at a loss for words. “This isn’t the time. You didn’t answer my questions. And anyway I have a rule about kissing and clients.”

“Oh?” said Jensen. Now he looked a little amused, which Misha found irritating even if it did make the crinkles around Jensen’s eyes appear again. Misha tried hard to keep glaring at his stupidly endearing face and eventually Jensen’s small smile fell and he sighed. “I was worried about you, ok? When I hired you, I didn’t think…thought I’d be hiring a PI to do some dirty work and put in the line of fire and instead I got you. And you’re…” Misha waited, but Jensen didn’t seem to be able to finish his sentence. It was Misha’s turn to sigh.

“Look, Jensen. I said I have a rule about kissing and _clients_. Past experience. Never goes well. I don’t want to have fun with you and then end up tied up in a closet. Again. So if you want this whole adventure to end the way _I_ want it to, how about you actually tell me everything now, like you should have from the start, so we can end the evening with you not being my client anymore.”

Jensen blinked at that, then seemed to consider. “Didn’t know if I could trust you at first. Some of this is delicate information someone could use against me. Still not sure you wouldn’t…”

“Jensen, you’re paying me,” Misha butted in. “Beyond that I don’t give a damn about your little in-fights with the rest of the criminal underground. And I’m not likely to tell the cops anything. We share a mutual distaste because I solve the cases they can’t or won’t take. I’m not gonna go shouting secrets to my competitors.”

Jensen nodded at this and seemed to weigh his options. “Don’t know why I feel like I know you already. We just met. But you…you’ve got a way about you, don’t you?” The smirk was back, as Jensen leaned closer to Misha and boxed him in against the wall of the alley. “You seduce all your clients?”

“Um…” Misha said, having trouble gathering his thoughts and even more difficulty looking away from Jensen’s full lips, “Not on purpose.” Jensen nodded slowly and then pushed away from the wall suddenly, leaving Misha reeling from emotional whiplash. Probably what he wanted, the gorgeous jerk.

"Alright, cards on the table then,” said Jensen. “The real deal, I won’t leave anything out. That good enough you can finish the case tonight? We know where Jenny is now.”  

“I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to do anything until I hear what you have to say,” Misha replied. “And how are you so sure we know where Jenny is? You trust Reynolds on that?”

Jensen snorted. “I trust him to want to humiliate me, and this is definitely his version of that.” Misha still wasn’t convinced, but he stayed quiet to let Jensen continue. “So…the whole story. You know I’ve got a rep. One that works very well for me I might add. Rivals so scared of my mysterious off the book dealings they don’t mess with my legitimate business enterprises. It’s better for me if everyone thinks it’s drugs. Popular theories are gage, or that new one, cocaine. The kind of trade a man needs muscle and no morals to defend. And come on, I’m a businessman with dealings on the side trying to make it in New York after coming here from Texas and starting with nothing. Lost the twang, gained some rumors and suddenly I’m golden. Anyway, Jenny doesn’t just keep my books, she’s one of the only ones who knows what I’m really trading in. If it gets out my businesses will be in danger. Hell, I might be in danger for making some hot-shot gangsters look like fools.”

Jensen paused, and Misha sensed he’d have to prompt or pry the answer out of him, “What _do_ you smuggle?”

“Art,” said Jensen, not meeting Misha’s eyes. “Fetches much better prices than people’d think, and without all the violent nonsense you get in other trade. Plus, I get my pick of the goods.”

Misha suddenly remembered Jensen’s apartment. The classical, beautiful, professionally mounted artwork _covering_ the walls. “You sly bastard,” he said, unable to stop the slow smile creeping onto his face. “You hide your merchandise in plain sight, don’t you? Just let anyone stepping into your place think you’re a pretentious ass.”

Jensen finally met Misha’s eyes again and started to smile back. “Well,” he said, “to be fair I do have a soft spot for the current stock. I appreciate the…content.”

Misha blushed remembering the male nudes that had dominated most of the paintings, his mind particularly drawn to a prominently placed piece in Jensen’s living room that had featured at least six male bathers with well-sculpted bodies. He shook himself. Later. First he needed to get everything straight.

“So, what, you’re telling me you’re worried about getting your bookkeeper back not because of her spilling some drug-running secrets but because you don’t want to loose your reputation in the underworld? And, so, what, this dock worker taking her was all a misunderstanding because you like to bed your employees?”

“I don’t!” Jensen interrupted, “They’re working, I ain’t got time for them to be distracted. O’Leary’s probably just jealous his girl’s stepping out on him and decided to pin it on me.”

“Reynolds knows…” Misha said slowly, looking hard at Jensen as he realized. “He knows you’re an…art dealer,” Misha tried to say that seriously and not giggle in Jensen’s stupidly surprised, handsome face. “That’s why he talked to you like he did.”

“He’s known for months. One of his men snuck in on one of my deals, trying to find something to hold over me. Well he did. And I don’t compete with him anymore, that was the deal, and he seems happy to lord it over me. Reynolds wouldn’t go to this kind of trouble. He doesn’t need to. Must be O’Leary. Jealous, like Reynolds said.”

“Or, he believed your drug running stories a little too well and wants a cut of the goods,” Misha said seriously, finally starting to think like a detective and figure out how on earth they were going to finish this tonight. Jensen looked startled, like he hadn’t (or hadn’t wanted to) consider that. “Gotta look at all of the angles, baby. That’s my job.” Misha smiled, as he suddenly and perhaps for the first time since he’d met Jensen felt back in control. He felt bold, and stepped in close to Jensen, cupping the side of his face with one hand. “Let me do my job. We’re going to the docks and we’re ending this tonight. My way. And then,” Misha leaned in closer, lips just barely brushing Jensen’s, “then we’re finishing what you tried to start just now. That’s my professional guarantee.”          

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Gage" is 50s slang for marijuana (to the best of my knowledge)
> 
> This is the painting Misha saw at Jensen's: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/5/50/Swimming_hole.jpg


	5. Chapter 5

Misha had Jensen’s driver drop them far enough away from the warehouses on the docks that they could sneak up undetected. Jensen insisted on having the man move the car in closer once enough time had passed that it wouldn’t give them away. He wanted them to be able to make a quick exit if need be. Misha couldn’t really object to that.

In the time it had taken for them to drive from center city down to the docks a thick fog had descended on the city. Or maybe they’d just driven into a fog bank that was already covering the harbor. Either way, Jensen and Misha had good cover for sneaking undetected down to the warehouses lining the north side of the pier. The peered into the windows of each building looking for some kind of clue. So far, no Jenny. Jensen pulled his hat lower over his face and Misha could tell he was struggling to keep his cool. He was clenching his jaw and a slight frown was marring his too-pretty face.

“If she’s here we’ll find her,” Misha said, “And you seem pretty sure she’s here. Just remember what I told you. If we see her, do not run in half-cocked. We come up with a plan of attack based on the terrain. We might even need to call the cops if that’s the best option, and I need you to be ok with that.” Misha had told Jensen this in the car of course, but he couldn’t help repeating himself. Jensen did not look like he was listening, which wasn’t a good sign. Misha knew it had been a bad idea to take Jensen along – it was _always_ a bad idea to take clients out into the field on a job, but he’d been powerless to resist Jensen’s firm demand and stunning green eyes.

The third warehouse yielded nothing, just like the previous two. Jensen’s frown deepened. Misha scrambled to find a way to lighten him up; he was no use like this.

“So, Jenny working for Jensen, huh?” He said quietly, “Ever get anyone mixing the two of you up? Someone special ever call you Jenny?” Misha forced a mischievous smile in an attempt to get Jensen to respond in turn. Jensen just gave him a withering side-long glance.

“No one’s ever been dumb enough to want to find out how I’d react to being called Jenny,” he said tightly.

At least he was responding, Misha thought. That was good. “What about Jen?” he asked, trying to keep up the banter as they looked into the windows of warehouse number four.

“Jen…” Jensen actually seemed to be pondering that one, “I might let someone get away with that. The right someone.” He shot a look at Misha again, this time with a _very_ different expression.

In another example of the horrible timing that defined his life, just as Misha opened his mouth to keep up the flirting (or whatever the hell they were doing) he glanced into the final window of warehouse number four, the one right near the slightly ajar front door of the place. There was a faint light coming from inside, but not faint enough to conceal the figure of a young brunette girl in very fashionable professional attire tied to a chair. Just as Jensen had predicted, they’d found Jenny.

But it was too easy. Like she’d been set in front of the window specifically for someone to spot and rush to help. She was only tied at the wrists to the arms of the chair, and had one hell of a shiner, but she wasn’t struggling and was looking with no small amount of fear at something or someone Misha couldn’t see. So, probably held at gunpoint then. Probably more than one person in there keeping guard on her, because Misha was sure O’Leary would be here to conduct whatever negotiation he wanted himself, but equally sure he wouldn’t be the one holding the gun. Not unless he was a complete idiot, and mobsters, whatever their other faults, rarely were – about things like this, anyway.

As Misha turned to Jensen to warn him not to rush in, and to wait for Misha to come up with a plan, he was greeted with nothing but empty air and an even more open warehouse door. Shit. Jensen must really care about his bookkeeper if the sight of her in danger sent him into unthinking action mode, but that was exactly the problem. Misha supposed he only had himself to blame, as he struggled to think of a new plan involving _himself_ rescuing two people instead of two of them rescuing one. His breath caught as he watched Jensen rush into his line of sight through the window, going straight for Jenny and clearly speaking to her before his attention was pulled to whatever had had hers when they arrived. Misha hadn’t been prepared for the fear that would shoot through him seeing Jensen in danger. Hell, he hadn’t even known the guy a day, he shouldn’t be this attached. Shit shit shit. Every time Misha brought a client along it was a mistake. He’d _specifically_ told Jensen not to do something stupid like this.

Misha forced himself to breathe slowly. Panicking wouldn’t help Jensen. Panicking was what Jensen had done wrong. A little unfair, because Misha now knew that Jensen, despite his fearsome reputation, really wasn’t used to situations like this. Misha crept toward the now almost completely open door and tried to get a better idea of the layout of the room. No one was looking at him, so he didn’t need to duck out of sight. Good. A nice long look. He took it all in: an ostentatiously dressed, wildly gesticulating man who could only be O’Leary, flanked by two men with guns, all facing and looking intently at Jensen and Jenny. One gun trained on Jensen, the other on the bound bookkeeper. Misha crept slowly into the warehouse, using the dim light, shadows, and fog to his advantage to stay out of sight as he finally tuned in to what O’Leary and Jensen were saying.

“I said, I want in on your drug shipments. Don’t play dumb with me Ackles,” O’Leary was practically spitting at Jensen as he stood in front of Jenny, trying to shield her, “I know you’ve got a big score coming in tomorrow, and you’re going to let me have it. Just tell me where it’s landing. This braud wouldn’t tell me nothing, so I had to use her to get to you. It’s her own fault, that shiner on her face. Wouldn’t do as she’s told. How you have some dame like that working for you? Must be a drag.”

“I told you already, O’Leary,” Jensen replied firmly, if a little desperately. “There aren’t any drugs. My rep’s all talk. Let Jenny go, she isn’t worth anything to you.” Misha at this point had managed to make his way along the wall until he was directly facing O’Leary, still miraculously unseen. O’Leary wasn’t really close to him, but Misha had a clear line to the man if he needed to do anything drastic to save Jensen from his own stupidity.

“Aw no Ackles, you ain’t pulling one over on me. I _know_ that’s where you’re getting your money, nothing else pulls in dough like that. Tell me. When. Your shipment comes in,” at this O’Leary snatched a pistol from one of his goons. “Or how about I shoot your precious little bookkeeper here, would that show you how serious I am?” He sounded deranged. Misha knew there was no getting through to him. So Misha decided to do what he did best: be unpredictable.

Misha sprung out of the shadows, sprinting as fast as he could toward O’Leary and tackling him to the ground before he had a chance to fire at Jensen or Jenny. The gun still went off as they both hit the ground, shot wild as Misha landed on top of O’Leary. As a surprised yet incensed O’Leary fought with Misha for control of the pistol, Misha heard the sound of a punch landing behind him and hoped desperately that it was Jensen landing a hit on one of O’Leary’s guards and not the other way around. Misha twisted while still grappling with O’Leary and managed to catch a glimpse of the two guards, still standing but dazed, the second gun nowhere to be see, and Jensen cutting Jenny free with a pocket knife he’d pulled from somewhere ( _how_ _had he hidden a pocket knife in such well-tailored pants?_ Misha thought distractedly). His brief lapse in concentration almost lost him control of the gun as O’Leary brought his knee up into Misha’s ribs. Misha grunted in pain, but finally managed to twist O’Leary’s wrist almost enough to snap it and loosen his grip. Misha quickly used to butt of the gun to smash O’Leary in the temple, stunning him, before slidding it away into the dark recesses of the warehouse to get rid of it – getting caught with a weapon like that after would be bad, if this turned into a crime scene.

Misha scrambled off of O’Leary and turned to try to rush Jensen and Jenny out of there – with Jenny free they had what they’d come for, and Jensen’s smart idea to have a getaway car at hand meant it should be in position now to give them a speedy getaway. Jensen was in the midst of punching out one of the goons while Jenny held her own by smashing her palm upwards into the other one’s face with a sick crunch that likely broke his nose. Well hell. Catching her must not have been easy. Misha made a mental note to never get on bookkeeper Jenny’s bad side.

“Hey, come on,” Misha called to both of them, pulling them out of their fights, “We all _can_ leave, so let’s do it before the cops show! Someone must have heard that gun go off.”

Luckily both Jensen and Jenny understood him quickly and all three of them ran through the door and into the foggy night. As they ran past the other warehouses, O’Leary and his gang must have recovered enough to come after them; more shots rang out, and Misha pulled Jensen and Jenny to safety behind the walls of the last warehouse on the pier as shots whizzed by them. Panting, clutching Jensen’s arm to himself perhaps more tightly than was necessary, mind whirling, Misha struggled to think of what to do next. He could _see_ the outline of Jensen’s car waiting for them not twenty feet away in the fog, but they couldn’t get to it without breaking cover and running through a hail of bullets. He turned to look at Jensen, trying to apologize without saying it, and saw nothing but gratitude in Jensen’s clear green eyes. Misha leaned in, staring hungrily at Jensen's lips, bold in what might be his last moments, before a sound he normally hated broke out in the night and made his heart skip in relief. Sirens!

“The cops!” Jenny whispered. The three of them stayed hidden as she was proven right, and four cars worth of New York’s Finest descended on O’Leary and company, firing back at the hapless kidnapper and circling around him. No escape. O’Leary wouldn’t get out of this one. Either the cops would do him in, or he’d be off to jail for resisting arrest. And either way they needed to get out of here.

“No one’s looking this way,” Misha said, “Your car’s there, Jensen,” he pointed, “We’ll make a break for it on three. One…two…” Jensen cut Misha off and pulled both him and Jenny up on two, sprinting with a tight grip on both of their arms toward the car.

“Can’t even let me call when we run,” Misha grumpled.

They all fell into the car’s wide back seat, Jenny then Jensen then Misha, and Jensen yelled at his driver to get them out of there. The driver peeled away, not asking any questions and thankfully not drawing any of the cop cars away from dealing with O’Leary. Misha sat in the back, panting. It was done. He almost couldn’t believe it. It had gone horribly wrong, but it was done! He finished the job, and he’d get paid. And maybe…Misha glanced at Jensen, who was busy talking to Jenny.

“Better not use these docks anymore!” Jenny was saying, arms waving wildly and seeming half-hysterical. No one could really blame her. “Those cops were just lying in wait – they must know you have shipments coming in there, were probably waiting for you. We’ll have to tell Eddy to delay tomorrow’s run! Pull in somewhere else from now on!”

“It’ll all be fine Jenny, don’t worry,” said Jensen, “I’m just glad you’re safe. And I ain’t complaining about the cops now. Thank God for small favors.”

“I didn’t let you down sir!” Jenny said forcefully, even as she seemed to calm down a bit. “Didn’t tell them anything! Everyone still thinks you’re a big, scary drug runner.” At that, she sent him a small smile.

“Well, I appreciate it Jenny,” Jensen said, “but don’t you go thinking you need to lay down anything for me. You’re in danger like that again, you tell whoever it is whatever they want. I need you more than I need fancy paintings.”

“Yes sir,” Jenny replied, looking a little pleased. Then, more tentatively, she asked, “Uh, who’s this?” pointing to Misha, “I mean,” she continued, smiling at him, “Thank you for helping and all, but –”

“Misha Collins, Private Eye,” Misha said, taking her hand and winking.

“Oh!” Jenny exclaimed, “I was worth a PI, sir?”

“Couldn’t run my business without you Jenny,” Jensen assured her. “Had to get the best to get you back. And Mr. Collins here is one of the best,” he put his arm around Misha’s shoulders boldly and possessively.

“Oh,” said Jenny, eyes widening in understanding, “ _Oh_. Uh, sir, you can just drop me off back at work. I have some paperwork I couldn’t finished because I was all interrupted and kidnapped, and I’m, um, sure you too have a lot to talk about,” Jenny said, eyes darting from Jensen to Misha, barely containing a smile.

“We can drop you at home too if you want Jenny. I’ve got a few of my men guarding the place now, so you’ll be as safe there as at the club,” Jensen answered, and then he smiled a bit himself, “But you’re right, I have a few things I need to discuss still with Mr. Collins here. In private.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so much later than I wanted to get it out! Hope you all enjoy - just the smut reward final chapter to go now - then this fic shall earn its rating!


	6. Chapter 6

They ended up dropping Jenny off at her apartment, a modest little place in midtown, with Jensen’s assurances he’d have his men keep an eye on the place. And true to his word, Jensen next had his driver take him to his club so he could send a few of his men over to look after her. Misha sat mostly silent in the back seat through all of the detours, knowing his final destination was going to be Jensen’s fancy penthouse apartment.

When they did finally arrive at Jensen’s place, Misha couldn’t believe he’d been there the first time only a few hours earlier. It was now well past midnight, but he felt like he’d packed a week’s worth of excitement into the few hours he and Jensen had raced after Jenny. And his professional pride stung a little, knowing he hadn’t really had to do too much investigating to get her back. Still, he thought, as he and Jensen entered the elevator, it definitely had not been a wasted evening.

When the elevator doors opened into Jensen’s swanky apartment, Misha gazed around at the art-covered walls with a new appreciation for them. He whistled lowly, “Now that I know you’re hiding your goods in plain sight, I’m just impressed. All your wealth, right there on the walls.” Misha paused to admire the bucolic scene of the nude male bathers.

“Well, not all my wealth,” Jensen said, smiling almost bashfully, “You’d be surprised how much money you can make just running a legitimate, upscale gin joint. The real problem is the _other_ club-owning bastards. Won’t take you seriously unless you’ve got your fingers in some dirty pies. Might as well ship in something I enjoy to keep them fooled.”

“So you make most of your dough straight, and smuggle art for the fun of it? Why, Mr. Ackles, you are one sneaky son of a bitch,” said Misha, smirking, “Not even sure why you thought you needed a Private Eye, but I’m glad you came to me.”

"I’m glad too,” said Jensen, stepping closer to Misha, so close Misha could see his individual eyelashes, count his freckles. “Here,” he said suddenly, thrusting a paper bag at Misha.

Misha took it, bemused, the moment stalled. Ah. Money. His payment. Right. The reason he took the job. “Oh,” Misha said, wondering suddenly if he’d misread the situation entirely. “Swell. I’ll just –” he dropped the bag as Jensen grabbed his face in both hands and pulled him in for a hungry kiss.

Hadn’t read the situation wrong then. Good. This was good. More than good, this was phenomenal. Jensen was wasting no time, already panting heavily and plundering Misha’s mouth with his tongue. Misha grasped at Jensen’s broad shoulders and tried to hold on through the sensation, but he’d gone weak at the knees, something he would have been more embarrassed about if it hadn’t felt so damn good.

Misha pulled away from Jensen’s mouth long enough to gasp, “Where. Couch? Floor?”

“You aren’t too old for the floor, are you, Mr. Misha Collins, PI?” Jensen teased, now kissing slowly around the shell of Misha’s ear and down the side of his neck.

“Oh, just watch me,” Misha growled. He gripped Jensen’s shoulders again, but only to manhandle him down onto the floor, where Misha straddled his waist. Luckily Jensen had outfitted his living room with a very plush, fancy rug. Misha shrugged out of his suit jacket, which he suddenly and with a thrill of arousal remembered was Jensen’s, as Jensen beneath him tried to sit up and shed his own clothing.

“I’ve been wanting to tear that suit off of you since you walked out here wearing it,” Jensen moaned, “Look too damn good in my clothes. Came swaggering on out here like you didn’t even know you looked like a goddamn sex buffet.”

Misha struggled with the fancy dress shirt’s buttons and cuffs, and complained, “Why do your fancy duds have to be so hard to take off then?”

“Anticipation heightens the pleasure. It’s like you’re unwrapping yourself for me,” said Jensen. He surged up to catch Misha in another kiss, and pushed the dress shirt the rest of the way off Misha’s shoulders. They were now both bare to the waist, a sheen of sweat beginning to glisten as their torsos brushed against each other with the gentle thrusts of their kissing. Misha laid Jensen gently back down on the ground.

“Now just relax,” he said, as he undid Jensen’s pants and pulled the trousers and briefs down in one go, “and enjoy.”

Jensen’s cock was already firmly at attention from their rutting and making out, but Misha still took it gently in his mouth and sucked teasingly to get it even harder. Jensen moaned and let his head drop back onto the floor with a soft bump, squirming under Misha as Misha teasingly ran his tongue on the underside of Jensen’s cock. Taking a deep breath through his nose, Misha took the whole of Jensen’s considerable length down his throat in one go, a trick he’d picked up on a previous job. Jensen’s cock was hot and heavy as it filled his mouth, and Misha swallowed around the stiff length as Jensen cried out and bucked his hips up. Misha tried to keep a rhythm with Jensen’s thrusts, and brought his hand up to play with Jensen’s balls, and then, cautiously, let one finger circle his hole.

“Oh damn,” Jensen panted, “Dammit Misha, don’t let me come yet.” Misha pulled of Jensen’s cock, panting a little himself, “I’ve got…Vaseline, in the cabinet,” Jensen pointed weakly, “want you to fuck me.”

“Yes sir,” Misha smiled, scrambling up and trying to hurry over to the drawer Jensen had indicated while ignoring his own raging hard-on. By the time he got back with the bottle in hand, Jensen was totally nude, and stretched out wantonly on the carpet, hands behind his head and spit-shiny cock still curled up toward his belly. He looked beautiful.

“Come on now Mr. Collins,” he said, and Misha had no idea how he suddenly managed to sound so put together, “You’re wearing too much for this party.”

Misha hurriedly set down their lubricant and struggled to hop out of his trousers, underwear and socks, as Jensen laughed at him. Misha straddled Jensen again, and kissed him as he circled his hips and ground his cock against Jensen’s in revenge. He grasped both of their cocks in his fist and smeared the precome from both heads together, thrusting them side by side through his increasingly sticky fist. Jensen gasped sweetly into Misha’s mouth, and Misha smirked even as he was trying to get a hold of himself and not come all over Jensen after one touch like a teenager.

“You want to get fucked Mr. Ackles? Your wish is my command.”

Misha had been coating his fingers in lube while he distracting Jensen with the kissing and rubbing, and he thrust one slick finger smoothly into Jensen’s hole. Jensen gasped and hiccupped a little, but took it easily, and Misha was soon able to add a second finger.

“My, my, Mr. Ackles, this isn’t your first time, is it?” Misha teased, curling his fingers against Jensen’s prostate and making him moan.

“Just get inside me already, you well-hung bastard,” Jensen panted.

Happy to oblige, Misha pulled off of Jensen a little, nudged his legs apart, and slicked up his own length. As he pressed the blunt head of his erection into Jensen’s hole, it opened up for him beautifully, and Misha shameless watched himself disappear inside the beautiful man’s body, almost not believing this was really happening. Jensen threw his head back against the floor again, pants and moans matching Misha’s as Misha seated himself fully inside Jensen and leaned over the other man.

Shuddering, and looming over Jensen, Misha tried to get a hold of himself. When he was sure he wasn’t going to come right then, he started thrusting inside Jensen, stroking Jensen’s still stiff and leaking cock in time with each swivel of his hips.

“Look at me,” Jensen gasped, “I want to see those pretty eyes, Mr. PI.”

Misha obediently locked eyes with Jensen, gazing into green orbs and marveling at the look of ecstasy and sheen of sweat on Jensen’s face. Jensen was blissed out under him, and he did that. Pretty damn good job. Jensen shuddered and closed his eyes, and then came all over Misha’s fist.

Misha only thrust a few more times before he was coming too, nearly collapsing on Jensen before he remembered himself enough to hold up at least some of his weight. After taking a few moments to calm down he pulled his softening length out of Jensen’s body and rolled off of him, so they lay panting side by side.

“You might need a new rug,” Misha said finally, and started laughing because he just couldn’t help himself.

Jensen chuckled, and then joined him, wheezing slightly as he tried to laugh too hard while still out of breath. “Maybe,” he said finally. “If I knew this was gonna be the end result, I would have wished one of my employees was kidnapped a few months ago.”

Misha chuckled at that too, and then gazed up around them. “Uh, Jensen,” he said.

"Yeah?” Jensen responded, turning his head toward Misha.

Misha met his gaze, “I think you might need new paintings. These have definitely seen too much.”

“I dunno,” Jensen said, smiled softly at Misha, “Give it a few minutes and we can make sure they’ve seen even more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! This is now complete. All comments and kudos are very appreciated <3


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